A Change Of Plans
by Torchwood007
Summary: Michael finally gets a copy of his dossier, but a chance encounter on the street finds it in other hands.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Burn Notice or any of its characters.**

_Hey, there. I'm a big fan of the Burn Notice TV show and figured I'd try my hand at a little fanfiction. I would appreciate it if you would review my work and give me your honest opinions; I'm always looking to improve my writing. Thanks a lot! Hope you enjoy. -T_

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Sun. Sand. Surf. Espionage. One of these things is not like the others, and for a girl in her late teens that one word conjures up images of romance and danger, handsome men and gorgeous women. Mix all of this together and you've got a typical college student in downtown Miami having a very, _very_ good day. But I'll get to that; right now let me introduce myself.

My name is Artemis Taylor. I'm 19 years old and a second-year student at Florida International University. I'm 5'8" with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a very low tolerance for idiots, which gets me in trouble quite a lot as I'm sure you can imagine. This story begins almost two weeks before Christmas, just as I was moving out of my dorm for vacation. It will be told from two separate points of view to ensure you get the entire story, so be sure to keep track of who's narrating or you might get lost. Shall we begin?

Let's set the scene: it's December 11th, about 1:15 in the afternoon, and I've just finished my last exam of the semester. Freedom smells so sweet, but the last place I want to go for vacation is home. Seriously, I'm from Seattle. Where would _you_ rather be for Christmas, sunny Miami or sleet-covered Seattle? I'm moving at a leisurely pace, absorbing the sunlight and the warmth while I move my things to my car. All too soon the only thing I have left is my art portfolio. It doesn't look like much, just a standard manila folder, but it holds years of work and I've added my own personal touches. Using my imagination, the internet, and a good photo editing program I turned the cover into my rendition of a government Eyes Only dossier. It looks fantastic, if a little beat up, and it fits me well enough. I set it down on my desk so I can do one last thorough check of my room, just to be sure, then tuck my portfolio/dossier under my arm and walk outside to get into my sleek black Dodge Charger. It's a gorgeous car, a vintage '74, and it was very hard for me to get my hands on, so imagine my surprise when I step out the door and see two identical cars in front of me!

For a moment I can't even tell which is mine, so I walk up to one and check the license plate number: S7E-207. Nope, not mine. Okay, no harm, no foul. As I step back from the other Charger and move toward my own, fervently hoping I don't look suspicious, I collide with a tall, brown haired man wearing dark sunglasses and a tan Armani suit. We both hit the pavement, dropping the folders we're carrying. I jump to my feet as quickly as possible, apologizing profusely and helping him up.

"I'm really sorry about that, sir, I was just trying to figure out which car was mine, you see, and I wasn't really paying attention to—"

He waves off my apology and takes off his sunglasses, wiping the dirt off them with a smile and looking at me with amused brown eyes.

"Don't worry about it. You okay?"

"Yeah. You?" I ask nervously.

"Fine, thanks." He dusts himself off and picks up one of the folders. "By the way," he says, walking past me. "Nice car."

With that he climbs into the other Charger and drives off, leaving me to toss my portfolio in the passenger seat of _my_ Charger and drive away with a grin.


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks to everyone who reviewed my last chapter; I honestly didn't think I'd get such a lively response right away. This is where the story might get a little hard to follow: we're going to be switching narrators. Probably every other chapter or so. In order to make it a little easier to tell the narrators apart I decided to make Artemis' chapters in the present tense and Michael's in past tense. Let me know if this works out well, otherwise I'll make a few changes. Hope you keep enjoying the story! –T_

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Hi, there, I'm Michael Westen. Remember the brown haired man Artemis ran into? That was me and, before we move on, there are some things you should know. I used to be a spy until I got a burn notice put on me. Basically all of my accounts were frozen, my job history was erased, and I was dumped in Miami with nothing. Since that day I've been trying to uncover the truth behind my burn notice and taking odd jobs along the way to help pay the rent.

I'm telling you this so you understand the importance of the dossier I was carrying when I ran into Artemis. I had finally gotten my hands on a copy of the dossier that got me burned and was on my way back to my loft to read it when I ended up on the pavement. That's what I get for not paying attention. My first thought was for the dossier, wondering if I had been made on my way out with it. When I saw that my 'assailant' was an apologetic college student I relaxed a little, and even more so when I saw the dossier laying two feet away.

_If she's not leaping at the dossier she's probably just in the wrong place at the wrong time,_ I thought to myself, brushing myself off and picking up the folder, glancing at the cover to make sure it was the dossier. _No harm done._ I waved off her apology and went home.

When I got back to the loft Fiona and Sam were waiting for me. Sam, of course, had a nearly empty beer in his hand, probably from my fridge.

"Hey, Mikey, how'd it go?" he asked, putting the bottle down.

"You got that out of my fridge, didn't you?"

"Yeah, about that, Mike…you need to get some better labels in there. If I'm going to be over here helping out—"

"Not now, Sam."

At this point Fiona bounced off of the bar stool she'd been sitting on and snatched the dossier out of my hand.

"Well, come on, let's see what all the fuss is about," she said, flipping open the cover. At that moment I saw something I never expected to see: Fiona looked confused. Even if the file had been redacted, which I was expecting, Fiona wouldn't have reacted like that, so I grabbed it from her and looked myself. Instead of lines upon blacked out lines I was staring at the Miami skyline rendered in vibrant watercolors. Thinking it may have gotten shuffled in when that girl and I dropped our folders I flipped through the entire dossier, searching for anything even remotely related to my burn notice, but the folder contained nothing but art. I closed the folder and looked at the cover, realizing it's a replica, not an actual dossier. I dropped it on the bar, staring at it blankly for a moment before turning to Sam.

"I need your cop buddies to look someone up for me, Sam," I said, opening the fridge and tossing him another beer.

"I dunno, Mike, I've been asking a lot of favors lately and I—"

"I'll buy the drinks on our next surveillance op."

"I'll see what I can do. What do you need?"

"A name and address from a vehicle description and partial plate number. I can give you the driver's description, too, if needed. I'm positive she has the dossier."

"How?"

"We had a run-in earlier. The folders must've gotten switched."

"All right, give it to me," he said, pulling out a pen and napkin.

"Black '74 Charger, just like mine, out-of-state plates…Washington, I think. First three digits 713. Driver was female, blonde, five foot seven or eight, medium build, late teens or early twenties."

"I'll put in a call."

"Make it quick, Sam."


	3. Chapter 3

_My rants will get shorter from here on out; I tend to focus on getting the stories done more than explaining the thought processes behind them. You can always PM me if you have any questions, but this space will just be for explaining something I know gets complicated. Hope you're still enjoying the story, regardless of my leaving most of the chapters as cliffhangers._

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"I'll take a double cheeseburger with fries and a vanilla shake," I half shout into the crackling drive thru speaker for the fifth time. I glance at my watch again, making sure the obscenely long line hasn't put me behind schedule. I should be fine, I hope… If I take the highway—

"Eight dollars and fifteen cents; please pull around," the speaker buzzes, interrupting my train of thought.

"Finally," I groan, taking my car out of park and turning the corner. After yet another lengthy wait I pay for my meal and set it down in the passenger seat while I pull out to allow the next steaming customer to get his undoubtedly chilly burger. As I park the car and reach for the greasy paper bag to unwrap my burger I notice something strange: a small red stain on the cover of my portfolio. I curse under my breath when I see a matching one on the bag and realize my burger must have been wrapped improperly and the red stain was excess ketchup. I fish out some napkins from my glove compartment, placing them between the bag and my lap so I can check my portfolio for internal damage. My jaw drops when I open the cover; this is most certainly NOT my portfolio! The first thing I notice is a photograph of a man, the same one I ran into earlier that day, and the seal on the first page. Central Intelligence Agency. Crap. Before I close the dossier—yeah, I know it's an actual dossier now…I think I'm going to have a heart attack—I look for the man's name. That doesn't take long, it's right there in page one along with height, weight, et cetera.

"Michael Westen," I mutter, trying to figure out how to track him down to return the dossier. After all, the last thing I want is the CIA, FBI, NSA, or any other agency with initials breathing down my neck. I reach into the now sodden paper bag and pull out my burger, thoughtfully munching on it as I contemplate my predicament. I'm about to move on to the fries when my phone rings. Quickly wiping my hands on a napkin I flip it open.

"Hello?"

"Is this Artemis Taylor?"

"Um…yes? Who is this?"

"Detective Chris Woodren with the Miami-Dade Police Department. I'm calling to inform you that your application for an internship has been accepted. How soon can you be here for orientation?"

"I thought applications weren't reviewed until mid-January."

"There are some…extenuating circumstances."

"Meaning you're short staffed?"

I can hear him sigh on the other end of the line. "Yes, we are. How soon can you be here?"

"Fifteen minutes," I say without hesitation, "if I leave right now."

"Fantastic. Go to the front desk and ask for me; the receptionist will point you in the right direction."

"Thanks; I'll be there."

This was perfect! I could get the dossier out of my hands so much easier this way. With any luck I could have one of the officers—now my colleagues—run Westen's plate number and get an address. Then as soon as I got out of work I could return it and get my own folder back. I throw the now empty food bag out the window into a trash bin and drive off with high hopes, sure I'll be back before dinner.

Why are things never that simple?

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_I know, cliffhangers are annoying. Sorry! At least I'm getting the chapters up a lot faster than I thought I would, so I'm not leaving you hanging for too long. Until next time, then. -T_


	4. Chapter 4

_Sorry these are sporadic, but midterms are giving way to finals and I'm expending most of my energy on my studies. This chapter and the next are mostly transitional ones, I'm not going to lie, but after that the plot becomes a little more intriguing. Enjoy!_

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"Good news and bad news, Mikey," Sam said, finally putting his cell phone away. He'd been on it for the last hour, using his contacts to find out whatever he could about where the girl might be. So far we had gotten a name and a Washington address, but neither did us much good at the moment. Her car obviously wasn't a rental, so it was unlikely she was flying back, especially with the amount of stuff she had been carrying outside. If she was driving home it would be impossible for the three of us to watch all the possible routes out of Miami. If Sam had bad news I was not in the mood to hear it.

"Give me the good news first," I said, leaning against the bar.

"She'll be staying in town for a while yet."

I looked up, staring at Sam in mild disbelief for a moment as I formulated a response.

"Don't get too excited," he warned me. "You haven't heard the bad news yet. Her new employer is our very own Miami-Dade PD."

"How, why, and when did that happen? She can't be more than 18."

"She's interning there; I guess they got a little shorthanded and needed someone to do the grunt work."

I took a breath, trying to see if this complicated things much. Overall it just made work hours difficult; even Miami cops were bound to notice if one of their interns was put under surveillance. On the other hand, it gave us a way to find out where she was staying, so the pros outweighed the cons.

"Interns finish at five o'clock," Fiona said a moment later, looking up the intern application on the internet. "And apparently there's a nice little coffee shop across from the station parking lot. If we get there at four thirty or quarter to five we can keep an eye on her without raising suspicion."

"And how exactly do you propose we get the dossier away from her?" Sam asked. "We can't just break into her car at the station—"

"Still working on it, Sam," I interjected.

"Well, just a heads up, it's going on three thirty."

Sam and Fi could probably see the gears turning in my mind as I worked out a plan. If we followed her in my car we would be spotted right away; '74 Chargers weren't exactly common in downtown Miami.

"Sam, we're going to need the Caddy; we're heading out early."


	5. Chapter 5

I sit at an old metal desk, watching the clock on the wall slowly tick away the hours. I swear it's taunting me, allowing the minute hand to spring backwards each time I look away. Interning at Miami-Dade PD isn't anywhere near as glamorous as I had originally thought; I had seen nothing but cleaning supplies and tons more paperwork all afternoon. Three thirty, an hour and a half to go now… My head rests on my hands, displaying my boredom, though in this case I would rather do nothing than collate another set of reports. A voice jerks me from my brief reprieve.

"I see you've checked out for the day. Mentally, at least," Detective Woodren says from the doorway of my "office." I use that term very loosely; it looks more like a refitted closet.

"Sorry, Detective, it's just been a long day," I respond with a sheepish grin.

"Call me Woody, everyone else around here does."

"All right."

"Have you seen enough reports and papers to last you the week yet?" he laughs.

"More like a lifetime or two! Do interns get smoke breaks?"

He raises an eyebrow at me. "I thought you didn't smoke."

"I may have to start if it gets me outside for a bit."

He laughs again. "Take five and just sit out back, take a break. Or there's a coffee shop across from the parking lot you can go to, as long as you're gone less than half an hour."

He wasn't even finished with the phrase "coffee shop" before I was up and out of my chair, grabbing my bag and heading for the door.

"Thanks, Woody, I owe you one!" I call back to him as I practically run outside. It doesn't take me long to spot the coffee shop (I'm a college student, after all), and I make a beeline for it, pausing only to glance in my bag to ensure that the dossier is still in there, where I had left it after lunch. After my coffee break I'll have Woody run Westen's plate number, I remind myself as I place my order and settle in against the back wall. As I'm sitting there sipping my frappuccino my phone starts ringing. I glance at the caller ID and groan. Mom.

"Hello."

"Are you on your way home yet?" Very to the point. And it doesn't sound like she's in a good mood…

"No, I'm not. I was just about to call you, actually." Let's be honest, no I wasn't. "I got the internship and they wanted me to start first thing."

"You've been away at college for almost two years! Summer classes, winter classes…you've never been home."

"You're absolutely right about that. And I'm sorry, but—"

"Are you coming back anytime soon?"

"Not in winter," I respond, forcing a good-natured laugh. Or ever, if I can help it. "Besides, it's not like you've got nothing to do. You've got Amy and Sean to take care of."

Amy and Sean are my younger brother and sister. They're twins, and they should be about ten by now. Even though they're well behaved, the twins can be a handful. Sean has soccer and Amy's got theatre, and both of them have orchestra rehearsals. It makes scheduling kind of hectic, and I can't help much when I am at home, mostly because if I'm not acting as a chauffeur no one can drive my car. Would you believe I'm the only one that can drive a stick shift?

"They want to see you, Art. We all do."

"All?"

There's a prolonged silence on the other end.

"I told you, Mom, the only things I ever got from Dad were his temper and his ability to hold a grudge. There'll be less stress for you if I don't come up. Unless he magically decided he's fine with my career choice."

I had decided two years ago to join the military to cover the schooling costs of masters degrees in science and criminal justice. Yeah, Dad had a problem with that. He's a bit old fashioned when it comes to women and "men's jobs."

"Arty…"

At that precise moment I happened to glance at the shop door.

At that precise moment three people happened to walk in.

One of them was Michael Westen.

"Mom? I have to call you back."

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_Okay, next chapter we get into the meat of the story. Everyone as excited as I am? It'll probably show up sometime around Christmas, thanks to the ridiculous amount of work I have before finals, and I apologize again for my sporadic posts. Let me know what you think!__ -T_


	6. Chapter 6

_This will be my last installment for the next six weeks or so as I will be out of town and most likely away from a computer during that time. Sorry if I get you too into the story before then, but there's nothing I can do, sorry :)_

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The coffee shop was a small, hole-in-the-wall place with very little artificial lighting. Most of the illumination came from the large bay windows gracing the front of the shop. It created a comfortable atmosphere, but I still found myself subconsciously taking note of all possible exits and surreptitiously studying the shop's workers and patrons. Besides the average blue-collar workers on their coffee breaks there were a pair of bored cashiers and a few high school and college students discussing vacation plans in hushed, anticipatory voices. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a figure in the back corner stand and begin walking toward Sam, Fiona, and me as we sat at a table near the side wall. I gave Sam and Fiona a small nod in that direction when I noticed it was the girl from before and took a seat facing the entrance and windows in order to watch the comings and goings of patrons. Fiona took the seat next to me against the wall and Sam sat across from her. A moment later the girl slid into the chair next to Sam with a nervous smile.

"Hello," she said. "You must be Michael Westen. I'm afraid I never got a chance to introduce myself earlier; I'm Artemis Taylor."

"That's a bit bold, don't you think?" I asked, shaking her hand.

"Not really," she responded with a shrug. "I have something you want, you have something I want. There's no reason we can't conduct our business genially. Besides, you've got me outnumbered if I do or say anything stupid."

I couldn't help but grin; I was starting to like this kid already. "Sorry, where are my manners? This is Sam and Fiona."

"Nice to meet you. Listen, Mr. Westen, I've got a couple of questions for you regarding this dossier before I give it back. If you don't mind, that is…" she added hastily.

"You don't know how to negotiate, do you?" Fiona asked.

"Well, not with spies, at least," Artemis retorted. "There aren't exactly a lot of opportunities to practice."

"Good one," Sam laughed.

"So what do you say, Mr. Westen? Your dossier in exchange for my portfolio and a little intel?"

I was quiet for a moment, thinking about the kind of sensitive information I may be releasing. I glanced around the coffee shop, gauging the crowd and looking again for anyone out of place. Seeing no potential threats, I nodded.

"Sure, it sounds reasonable. But hold it on the Mr. Westen stuff, okay? Just call me Michael."

"Great," she responded with a grin. "I'm going to go get a smoothie before we start; can I get you three anything?"

Sam and I refused the offer, but Fiona asked for a muffin and some lemonade.

"Right, I'll be back in a sec." Artemis adjusted the bag on her shoulder and got up to place the order. A few steps from the table she turned back.

"Fiona, what kind of muffin—"

She stopped midsentence, her eyes flicking to me and a look of shock passing over her face.

"Get down!" she shouted, tackling me to the ground just as two shots rang out, shattering the front window and tearing through the air where I had been just moments before. I glanced over at Sam and Fiona as I hit the floor, making sure they got to cover, then at Artemis, who was already moving toward Sam and Fiona and keeping as close to the ground as possible. A couple of seconds later we all were crouched near the counter, which was constructed in a C-shape, wrapping around the cashiers and creating a blind spot for anyone looking in from outside.

"Jesus Christ," Artemis said breathlessly. "Who did you piss off?" she added, her eyes shining with excitement.

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_Hope you all are enjoying the story so far and I apologize again for my upcoming absence. Enjoy the holidays! -T_


	7. Chapter 7

_I know, I know, I said I'd have this up like a month ago, but I decided I didn't want to split these chapters apart and had to kind of tweak the second half of this entry to agree with Arty's POV. Sorry for the delay, but I think you'll agree there's no good place to split this._

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"Fiona, what kind of muffin—"

I stop short, catching an odd movement out of the corner of my eye. As I turn my head I notice a bright red dot dancing across Michael's chest. Everything seems to move in slow motion as I realize that little red dot is a sniper's laser sight and my body moves of its own accord, seemingly acting on instinct.

"Get down!" I hear myself shout as I launch myself at him. Two shots shatter the big bay window as the two of us land on the floor. Almost every woman in the coffee shop is screaming, adding to the mounting chaos both inside and out. I notice Sam and Fiona in a corner by the checkout counter and work my way over to them, staying as low to the ground as I possibly can. As I flop down next to Sam I realize I'm shaking. Well, that's embarrassing.

"You okay, kid?" Sam asks as Michael begins to work his way toward us.

"Yeah, I think so," I respond, trying to keep the quaver out of my voice. "It's just the adrenaline."

Michael sits down on my left, his eyes darting methodically around the room. Looking for an alternative exit, I presume.

"Jesus Christ, who did you piss off?" I asked him, trying hard to suppress a grin. I know, it sounds crazy, right? Everyone else is trying to see what's happening from a safe little hidey-hole and I'm beginning to have the time of my life. Still, though, I don't much like the idea of a guy outside somewhere with a sniper rifle just waiting for us.

"Does this place have a back door?" I wonder aloud, looking down a short hallway toward the bathrooms.

"Yeah, we'll use it in a minute," Michael says, craning his neck to look over the counter. "Sam, Fi, did either of you see where that shot came from?"

"Definitely from a rooftop, judging by the angle," Fiona responds, "but I couldn't tell you which one." Sam just shakes his head.

"I may be able to help with that," I blurt out. All three turn to stare at me and I feel the blood rush to my face. "Well, I…uh…I'm not sure how accurate it'll be, since I got it from a movie, but…" Okay, stop talking, you're just sounding stupid. Do it, then worry about how inaccurate it may be. I reach up and grab a small handful of stirring straws from the counter, then make my way over to our table, keeping out of sight of the now nonexistent window. When I tackled Michael earlier I had knocked his chair over, but the chair behind him was upright. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see the bullet had indeed passed through it. I separate eight or so stirring straws from the group in my hand and wedge them in the hole from the projectile, doing my best not to force the slim plastic rods into the wood itself, changing the shape of the hole. When they form a stiff extension of the bullet's path I glance over at the counter. I'm a little shocked when I don't see Michael, at least until I feel a hand on my shoulder.

"Oh, hi. What are you doing over here?" I ask, looking back at him.

"Speeding things along; the average response time for the local police is a little unpredictable when they're right across the street."

"Right," I response sheepishly. For an instant images flash through my mind: my head popping up to see which building the straws point to, another bullet flying through the air, this time toward me…I shake my head, trying to dislodge the unsettling pictures. Without giving myself time to reconsider I stand up, move to the back side of the chair, and look down the end of the straws like an astronomer looking through a telescope. A couple seconds later I pull away and glance at the whole visible skyline, pinpointing the exact building and floor, then return to my former crouching position. I follow Michael back to the others and then out a back door into a narrow alleyway cast into shadow by the tall buildings surrounding it as we hear the wail of police sirens out front. Even amidst this mild chaos I can't help but wonder what took them so long when they were just across the street to begin with. Michael, Sam, and Fiona force me to pay attention to my surroundings and footing a bit more as they propel me down the cluttered alleyway and into the busy street.

"Whoa, hold up, shouldn't we be going the other way?" I ask as we start toward the front of the coffee shop. "This'll put us right in view of the sniper."

"Yes, but he won't shoot at us this time," Fiona says, watching the police cordon off the area. "If we move with the crowd we'll be fine. Too much collateral damage if he misses."

Sure enough, a crowd is beginning to gather to check out the crime scene.

"Which building?" Michael asks me as we step into the milling crowd and begin to work our way across.

"The off-white hotel to the northeast."

"Too tall for the shot to have come from the roof. Which floor?"

"Between the 3rd and the 6th; it was too far to get a more accurate height. It had to have come from a corner balcony, though. None of the other rooms had a clear shot—is that my phone?"

Sure enough, when I reach into my pocket for my phone it's vibrating and playing Beethoven's 5th.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Arty, it's Ty. Did your break start yet?"

Tyler? As in Tyler Hale? As in my boyfriend? Of course; he never did have good timing…

"Um, yeah, it did. Why do you ask?"

"Well, I was thinking maybe I'd head on down to Florida for my winter break. Some fun in the sun, some sweet company…"

"Tyler—"

"Come on, babe, I haven't seen you in months! I miss you."

I could almost see the boyish grin coming across his face like it does every time he tries to get me to agree to something. Well, it isn't going to happen this time.

"Coming down isn't a good idea, Tyler."

"What? Why not?"

Because I'm currently in the middle of a gunfight.

"Because I'm not in Florida."

"You're what?"

Okay, I surprised myself there, too, but I might as well run with it. If I turn back now he'll know I'm lying.

"I decided to go home and spend the holidays with my family." Wow, that's a load of bull. "Mom sent me on an all-expense paid guilt trip earlier telling me the old man's sick and I should make amends."

"Is he dying or something?"

"I have no idea; I haven't even pulled in the driveway yet."

"Oh, well, tell him to get better for me."

Wow, he sounds really put out. I kinda feel bad lying to him…we usually share pretty much everything, but if he came here right now I don't know what would happen.

"I will, Ty. Listen, I have to go," I tell him as Sam nudges my arm. "Can I call you back? I don't want to get pulled over for talking on the phone."

"Oh, yeah, sure. Call me tonight, okay?"

"Right after dinner."

"Deal. Drive safe."

"I will. Bye."

"Bye."

I hang up my phone and slip it back into my pocket, smiling sheepishly at Sam when he asks, "Who was that, your boyfriend?"

"Gossip later, you two," Michael cuts in. "If we're lucky the sniper is an amateur and he's still in the building."

The four of us walk into the hotel lobby, glancing briefly at a floor plan on the way through. Near the elevators Michael starts issuing orders again.

"One elevator, two staircases, four floors to check. Sam, Fi, take the staircases. You know what to look for and they'll get the most traffic, especially if the elevator's out of commission." He turns to me with a hint of doubt. "I need you to stall the elevator on this floor and keep an eye on the entrance. Give me your phone."

I hand it over and he punches a series of keys. When he hands it back I quirk an eyebrow, silently asking for clarification.

"I put my number in your phone. Call if any of the local authorities decide to stop by, but it'll probably take them a while to seal the area and send in a crime scene unit."

"Okay, I can do that."

"And don't run off."

I almost laughed at that, but didn't get the chance to provide a witty retort before he, Sam, and Fiona were halfway to their positions.

"Ah, well," I sigh, walking to the receptionist's desk. "Next time." I pull a drawer out of the desk and carry it to the elevator, setting it in the elevator entrance to keep the doors from closing. The safety protocols will keep the doors open as long as there's something in the way. This, in turn, will keep the elevator on the ground floor. Mission halfway complete, I sit in the receptionist's chair and settle in to watch the activity outside.

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_So, I hope the sheer lengthiness of this chapter makes up for the extended leave of absence, if nothing else. I'm not even going to try and set a deadline for the next chapter because I know it won't happen :) Thanks again for reading. -T_


	8. Chapter 8

_Getting sick of my long pauses between chapters yet? Sorry, not much I can do about that. Anyway, I'll cut the pleasantries and let you get back to the story. Enjoy._

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_

The west stairwell was less crowded than I had expected, given the time of day and the situation outside. In fact, the entire building sounded deserted. I glanced at my watch as I ascended to the third floor. Oh, it was only quarter to four, which would explain the silence. Most of the hotel's occupants were either at work, going to dinner, or at the beach. That worked out well; fewer nosy neighbors to deal with that way. The first room I had to check out was directly across from the stairs, so I had to be careful about how I entered the hallway. I took advantage of the small window in the stairway door and looked into the hall, searching for any indication the sniper was on this floor. As it turned out luck was on my side. The carpeting in the hotel's hallways wasn't the stiff, tight-knit, dirt concealing type preferred by college dorms and low rent apartments. It was thick burgundy shag, and recently vacuumed, so footwear impressions were visible throughout the hall. Evidently there were only a few rooms occupied on this floor, and none of them were the room in question.

Floor four was similarly unoccupied, but the fifth floor had so many sets of impressions leading to so many rooms that it was impossible to tell if the corner room had been in use without leaving the stairwell. Once again utilizing the window I checked the hallway and door for any possible warning systems. Seeing none I entered the hall and crossed to the opposite side, to the right of the door and out of sight of the peephole. From this angle I could see that the door lock has been taped open. No doubt, this was worth checking out. I inched the door open slightly, looking for any possible traps or warning systems. Nothing was attached to the door, so I slipped in quietly and shut the door behind me. Unfortunately, no one was home. He must've cleared out after he botched the hit. Careful not to touch anything, I searched the room for any clues as to the identity of my mystery assassin. Near the balcony I found a key card for another local hotel—the Tides—but nothing else besides the cone of powder residue on the balcony from the rifle shots even indicated someone was here. As I was exiting the room and wiping my prints off the door handle my phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Michael, it's Artemis. The cops've finished up outside and they're heading over here. Find anything good?"

"Just a keycard. The sniper made it out."

"Hm, too bad. Oh, gotta go, they're almost here."

As she hung up on me I began to walk down the stairs and wonder how I was going to avoid the police on my way out.

* * *

_Well, there you have it, the plot thickens. Good news is I already have a plan for the next chapter, so it should be up fairly soon, barring any writer's block (heaven forbid!). As always, I value your feedback. Talk to you soon. -T_


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